I’ve written a lot in the past about identity and what I’m like when I’m sad/going through a rough patch. That’s because I don’t really write when I’m not feeling like shit. Writing is a cathartic process for me – it helps me to organise my thoughts and feelings, it helps me to box things off in my head, it helps me to recalibrate and move on. I often don’t need to do those things when I’m up.

But part of that is my perception that I am who I am when I am low. That is my identity. Not surprising really as it’s the version of me I’m most comfortable with. It’s the part of me I know best and most easily associate with. Maybe I have that the wrong way around. Maybe I’m not gaining additional bits when I’m well, I’m losing parts of who I am when I’m unwell.

When I’m feeling ok may just be the time to write. I’ll figure out what I gain when I resurface from the depths of crappiness, and get to know what I’m actually like and who I am.

I’m writing this trying to work out what the difference is in what I’ve just typed and I’m not sure I understand it, much less that I’m able to articulate it, but I feel like it’s something significant. Stick with me. I’m sure if this is in front of you, I must have figured it out by the time I stop typing – otherwise this document with languish with all the other scattered paragraphs of unformed blogs that I’ve abandoned because I somehow can’t see the worth in anything I can’t write in one sitting.

Anyway.

What do I gain when I feel better?

Laughter. I laugh easier, freer and without (much) embarrassment.

Willingness. A willingness to participate, to be seen, to try, to stick my neck out. I stop needing to hide.

Freedom. I’m not constrained by fear and the past. I can go to sleep easier, with less fear of nightmares (not completely easily or completely without fear) because I know nightmares won’t make the next day impossible. I’m not always looking for signs I’m going to be homeless in a heartbeat.

Companionship. I’m aware that some people are reluctant to approach me when I’m low – I can be ratty and teary… it isn’t fun to be around. When the low passes, people seem to approach me more often and not immediately look for a way to leave.

Lightness. Depression feels like a weight on my back and around my legs. When I’m up that lifts. I can move without becoming exhausted.

Quietness. The noise in my head is often like being in a room full of people who are all shouting. I struggle to focus on the noises I need to be hearing. When I’m up that noise gets turned down and I’m able to hear my own thoughts without straining or having to fight off the intrusive ones.

Peace. I don’t torture myself constantly. Don’t get me wrong, I still torture myself but, when down, it’s like a running commentary on everything I do, say, think, make. It’s more of a bullet-pointed critique when it’s time to go to sleep when I’m feeling better.

There is still quite a bit of negativity in that list. That’s because when I’m up I’m still down – I’m still living with depression and a personality disorder. I still carry things around stuck with trauma glue but it’s easier and I feel like I’m able to live without apology. If this was who I was for the rest of my life, I’d be content with that. This version of me is hard to live with at times but it’s ok. I can tolerate it.

I don’t know how many others would perceive this version as enough, but I spend too much time living the down version. I hope for a day when this is my version of me at my lowest but it’s ok if it isn’t. For now, this is enough.

So, who is me? Is it the one who is higher or the one who is lower? Is the need to figure it out just another example of polarised thinking (which is a symptom of the personality disorder I am diagnosed with)? Does it matter? Reader, I don’t know.  I perhaps need to write more about this. What do you think?